Out in a distance and dreary place,
unlike any other there is to see,
beyond the walls,
that once kept everything safe,
and well placed,
is now gone,
for in grays that there are,
nothing else fits it more,
to set on to find,
what broke it,
an unlikely source that brings up and down,
on a winding road,
that old classic found,
in those stories told,
by those who were once always welcomed,
over the wall,
now it’s broken,
unsure of so it came to be,
would leaving nothing of anything else to lead where,
but alas form in ware lies,
voided of it so,
living on a hill,
that overcast,
a mist that blinds,
only what others choose,
not to see every day of gloom,
comprise of a fortress made of memories that have,
long ago,
worn out their welcome,
and the need to push it all,
finding what made it that way,
through  every trail,
a fact will open the eyes,
an fiction fable only delay it all,
for each one found is not right or wrong,
just a piece of oneself,
coming back together,
not as a puzzle game,
no of childish looks of it,
that’s far from it all,
in that share,
small moment,
increases the speed,
just enough to be welcoming again,
back in the world that is before,
those eyes that will forever remain unsure,
but forward the feet do,
in memory,
as so.

 

 

 

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